


Agency

by ddagent



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Author!Bernie, Editor!Serena, F/F, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 20:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: Serena is the agent for acclaimed novelist (and also her best friend) Bernie Wolfe. Unfortunately, Bernie is seeking alternative representation.





	Agency

**Author's Note:**

> So, me finally catching up on my writing magazines meant I was inspired for a new story! It’s my first in well over a month and *fingers crossed* its the start of many more. Thanks to igerna and @ktlsyrtis for being amazing; especially @ktlsyrtis who had to deal with my anxious circles all this afternoon. I hope you enjoy! :D

_It’s not only Jac Naylor who is jumping ship. Industry insiders have indicated that acclaimed novelist B.G. Wolfe may be changing representation. First snapped up by agent Serena Campbell almost five years ago, Wolfe has worked with her on her last two books. Her third,_ The Long Journey, _is set to be released by Wyvern Publishing in the next fortnight. Campbell is also the agent of-_

She didn’t read any more. Serena placed her tablet gently on the breakfast table, as if it were an actual person. _Don’t shoot the messenger,_ that’s what they said. Serena didn’t shoot the messenger. She didn’t throw her tablet across the kitchen; or manically unsubscribe from the publishing e-zine she read over breakfast each morning. She just stared, fingers toying with the collar of her pyjamas in lieu of her pendant. She stared, unmoving, as she processed the words she had just read.

Bernie Wolfe – _her Bernie_ – was leaving her.

They’d first met in a hospital waiting room; Serena waiting for her daughter and Bernie for her own appointment. The television was stuck on _Bargain Homes_ and the magazines were six months out of date. So they talked. Serena could get a story out of anyone, and she certainly got a good one out of Bernie Wolfe. Army surgeon, injured war veteran…her story was _gold._ As Ellie came out of her appointment, already on her phone, Serena had slipped her business card into the pocket of Bernie’s shirt. _If you ever want to write those stories down, give me a call._ A month later, with apparently nothing else better to do than write, Bernie had handed her a first draft.

The rest of their story was a dream: two bestsellers, a place on _Richard and Judy’s Book Club,_ and an option from the BBC to produce a mini-series. She knew writers that would have killed for less. So what the _hell_ had Serena done to make Bernie search for other representation?

Reaching for her phone, Serena punched in the number for her assistant. “Lydia? It’s Serena. I’d like you to arrange a coffee meeting with me and Ms Wolfe. Today, if possible. Tell her I want to talk about the book signing. Thank you, you’re a dear.”

Serena waited until Lydia texted her the details of their appointment. Then, she got to work. A shower with the hot water turned to scalding; the loofah taking out her anger on her own skin. Moisturiser; make up. Dark red lipstick and simple jewellery. She wore heels in a matching shade. They made indents in the carpet as she descended the stairs towards her home office. It took mere minutes to print off her ammunition: Bernie’s contract, their endless emails brainstorming. Serena wasn’t going down without a fight. Bernie may have been the soldier, but she knew how to go to war.

The fight was scheduled for ten thirty. The battleground was a small café not far from the hospital where they’d first met; a place they had met often during their five year relationship. Serena arrived early and took a seat facing the entrance. She made sure not to smudge her lipstick on the rim of her coffee cup. She tried not to unleash her anger on the barista; or the young writer listening to music without his headphones. Taking in a deep breath, Serena tried to remain focussed, calm. Not an easy feat when the woman she considered her best friend was stabbing her in the back.

At ten thirty exactly, Bernie Wolfe swept through the front door. _Punctual to a fault._ Whilst Serena had dressed for war, Bernie had dressed for a day at the park. Skinny jeans; a vest to combat the warm summer weather. She brightened when she saw Serena already waiting for her, offered a shy waggle of her fingers before she moved to the counter. Serena watched her order her coffee; slip her change into the _Help the Heroes_ bucket _._ If she hadn’t read the item in the e-zine that morning she would have had no clue that anything was wrong between them.

“Serena!” Bernie smiled as she joined her; placing her cup down before pressing a clumsy kiss to her cheek. Even _that_ was a sign of how far they’d come in their relationship. When they’d first met, Bernie couldn’t even hug without doing a marvellous impression of a sideboard. Now she was initiating kisses. _What did I do wrong, Bernie, please tell me!_

“You look well,” she said instead. “Good weekend with the kids?”

Bernie nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. “It was wonderful. We had a great time in London; Charlotte took us to a show. Her girlfriend even asked me if I could sign a copy of _Do No Harm._ ”

“That _is_ wonderful!”

Serena immediately hated herself for wanting to reach over and squeeze Bernie’s arm; to revel in her friend’s newfound relationship with her children. Her return from war, her burgeoning writing career, her _divorce,_ had not made things easy between them. But the ice was melting. And who wouldn’t melt under Bernie’s warm gaze? Serena could even feel herself start to defrost. Bernie’s gaze was intense; the way she stared at the dark lipstick adorning her mouth and the plunging neckline of her blouse. But Serena blinked, once, and the look went away. Buried at the bottom of a latte. _Do you want to tell me, Bernie? Is that why you keep staring?_

 _Enough was enough._ Serena manoeuvred herself into position to make the first strike. “So, how’s the new book coming? Last time we spoke you mentioned you’d started it.”

Bernie hid herself under a waterfall of fringe. Serena couldn’t count the number of times she’d wanted to sink her hands into that mop of hair; to push it away so she could see the dark eyes underneath. She dimly recalled Cousin It from _The Addams Family_ as Bernie finally gave a response. “I have a few chapters down. It’s… _different_ than the other Eve Matthews books.”

“I’m sure it’s _wonderful._ ” Serena’s smile was pinched, forced. “I’d love to read what you have.”

Bernie remained hesitant. _Probably unwilling to tell me she’s looking for a new agent. Probably a new publisher too. Coward._ “Maybe…maybe when it’s ready.”

“Could I at least get a title? The synopsis? You know I’m a big fan of Eve. Have been ever since you introduced me to her over a glass of Shiraz.”

Eve was Bernie’s fictional stand in; a trauma surgeon in the middle of a ten year commission during the Iraq War. She had a husband; two children. But Eve’s husband Daniel was a university lecturer and a long-time pacifist rather than an orthopaedic surgeon. Eve’s daughter was the eldest child; the son still young and playing with war toys. Bernie’s first two books dealt with her first tour in Iraq and the difficulties she faced as a frontline surgeon. Her third, which would no doubt be her most popular, was about what it meant to come home.

Serena had always been interested to see where Bernie would take her fourth book. Now she was interested to know what made her unworthy of it. “Come on, we’re _friends,_ aren’t we?” _First hit across the bow._ “Honestly, you could tell me that Eve leaves the army to join the circus and I’d still want to read it.”

Bernie still trusted her. Perhaps not enough to continue working with her, but enough to let her see the first few pages. Out of her satchel Bernie pulled a lined notebook _;_ the first three chapters scrawled across the page in her doctor’s handwriting. Serena swallowed as she looked at them. She felt the same familiar flutter as when Bernie had produced similar pages in a hospital bar nearly five years ago. Just like then, it took no more than a few lines before Serena was drawn back into her world.

_“Major, this is Lieutenant Rachel Cooper. She’s your new anaesthesiologist.”_

_Eve looked up from the inventory she was filling out; immediately cursing as she wrote a seven instead of a one. She had no doubt that similar mistakes would be made today. Lieutenant Cooper was an attractive woman. Beautiful, even. She could see Higgins and Chandler in the back nudge each other, making lewd gestures behind their superior officer. But Cooper didn’t see them. Didn’t see the other soldiers, or the supplies stacked around them waiting to be unpacked. Just her. Just Eve._

Serena finished the last page. Whilst she had read, Bernie had drunk her coffee and was anxiously making her way through a second. Serena stacked the pages neatly in front of her and took a sip of her own cup. _Cold._ Pushing it to one side, she addressed the writer in front of her. “It won’t sell.”

Bernie swallowed. “I thought as much.”

“We’ve marketed your books to housewives. To women with families and children. People who can relate to Eve and yet be taken away by the world of army medicine.” Serena slumped in her seat; hating herself for every word that came out of her mouth. “Eve can’t come out as a lesbian.”

“I know.” Bernie choked back a sob. “Those three chapters have been the hardest thing I’ve ever written. More than the explosions and the surgeries and the people I’ve lost. _Coming out on paper…_ Serena, you have no idea how hard that was.”

 _Time for a temporary truce._ Serena took Bernie’s hand; her dear friend squeezing her fingers in response. She’d long suspected Bernie of being gay. Serena’s own bisexuality rendered her able to spot the signs; the crude _gaydar_ her daughter claimed she had but did not actually possess. She’d often thought that it was the impact of the divorce, the reaction of the children, that had kept Bernie from coming out. Now Serena wondered whether writing in Eve’s world all these years had been another place to hide from herself.

Serena gave her hand another squeeze; rewarded by a bright if slightly soggy smile. “I’m being ridiculous, I know.”

“Not one bit. This is hard _._ Realising the world hasn’t caught up as much as we want it to is even harder.”

“I want to tell this story, Serena. Writing Eve helped me get over losing my commission. I thought writing this story would help with… everything else. Guess it’ll be another story for the drawer.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Bernie looked up. “But you said yourself that people won’t buy the book if Eve comes out. It’s horrible and I hate it but I know you’re right.”

“So we put Eve to bed!” Serena shuffled forward in her chair, grabbing the pages she had so neatly stacked. “You create a new character. Another trauma medic. Maybe she’s left the army; maybe she’s working with the NHS or in a private clinic. It doesn’t matter. But she’s new and fresh for what you need to do with her. Eve’s story is _done,_ Bernie. She came home, she found her peace, and she went back out to war. That part of your life is _done_. It’s time for a new story.”

Serena didn’t think she had ever seen Bernie so happy. Not when they’d sold her first book to Wyvern Publishing; not when she’d been shortlisted for several awards. Not even when her son Cameron had showed up to her first signing. “God, Serena, I could _kiss_ you!”

For a moment, Serena thought she might just let her. But then the moment passed. As did the truce. “I’d settle for you telling me why you’re looking for new representation.”

Bernie faltered; her face frozen in motion like a paused video. She didn’t blink. Just said: “How do you know about that?”

“News gets around.” Serena sat back from the table, putting some distance between herself and Bernie. “I’m currently a laughing stock in the publishing world. My find, _my best friend,_ doesn’t trust me enough so she’s going elsewhere. I’ve made you money, Bernie. So much money _._ I’ve made you into a household name. There’s going to be a miniseries based off your first book at _Christmas_. So I’d like to know why. Just that. _Why?_ ”

“I-“

“Why.”

“ _Serena-_ “

She slammed her hand against the small wooden table; cold coffee spilling onto Bernie’s pages. “You’ve hurt me. _Deeply._ If you care about me at all, you will tell me why you’re leaving me.”

Bernie’s body curled in on itself. “I’m leaving because I care _too_ much about you, Serena. I-I have _feelings_ for you.”

Whatever Serena had expected Bernie to say, it wasn’t that. She felt the battle plan she had so carefully drawn up crumble in the face of Bernie’s feelings for her. Bernie’s _feelings. For her._ She’d known Bernie was gay but hadn’t known _this._ Her mind whirred; her academic side taking hold as she thought over every conversation, every shared look for evidence that Bernie cared for her deeply. She found more than she was willing to admit. _Bernie had feelings for her._

A friend of hers at University, Peter, had fallen in love with her during their last year. When he’d told her that, just after they’d been handed their diplomas, she had rebuffed him as kindly as she could. He wasn’t the first. Yet the words _I don’t think of you that way_ died in her throat. They felt wrong in her mouth. It was then that Serena realised the jolt in her stomach; the butterflies that refused to settle. The slight quirk of her lips despite the anger she still felt. She was _happy_ that Bernie had feelings for her.

Her phone sprung to life. She cancelled the call; still reeling. Across the table, Bernie babbled her excuses: “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you. And I _have_ wanted to tell you, Serena, believe me I have. But I could never find the right time. I thought about telling you the weekend we went away to London for your birthday, do you remember? Or, _or,_ at Christmas when you were kissing everyone underneath the mistletoe. I just couldn’t-“

“-find the words?” Serena offered. Bernie nodded. Again her phone lit up with an incoming call and again Serena swiped it away. She couldn’t deal with anyone else right now. She had to deal with Bernie first. Deal with Bernie’s feelings, deal with her _own_ feelings. But joy quickly gave way to nausea as she recalled the extent of Bernie’s mess. “So let me get this straight. Instead of telling me you have feelings for me, you ran away. Rather than have an actual conversation you make me look like a fool at my job.”

“Serena-“

Her phone lit up for a third time. “I need to take this.”

Serena turned her back on Bernie; standing up to take the call. Lydia’s voice squeaked in her ear almost immediately. Her office was in meltdown. Calls were coming in from news outlets; _Buzzfeed_ had called twice. Henrik Hanssen, CEO of Wyvern Publishing, had come down in person to ascertain the situation. _Just wonderful._

“Lydia, _Lydia,_ calm down. Everything is under control. I want you to tell them that. Tell them that everything is _fine_ and that they should be reading something better than idle gossip _anyway._ Give them a couple of recommendations from our author’s list if they’re stuck. No, _no_ , not even Bernie is stupid enough to take a meeting with Guy Self.” Serena glared over her shoulder; the former soldier wilting under her gaze. “I’ll let you know more once I’ve finished my meeting.”

Despite Lydia’s protests, Serena ended the call. She returned to her seat, staring across the small table at Bernie Wolfe. She refused to meet Serena’s eye. The line of her shoulders was taut; her body stuck between _fight_ or _flight._ Like it needed a choice. Bernie would always run. Non-combatant even in her personal life.

“I think I need a drink.”

“Little early for Shiraz.”

Serena bit back the bile her conversation with Lydia had produced. “Well then I guess a cup of coffee will have to do. Double shot. Pastry, too. The very _least_ you can do. Guy _fucking_ Self, dear _lord._ Do you hate me that much?”

Bernie’s chair scraped across the floor as she got to her feet. “I don’t hate you, Serena. Far from it.”

She left without another word. Serena watched as Bernie stood in line, arms wrapped around herself like a shield. But it was too late. She was already wounded. Serena had struck a mortal blow. _Retaliation,_ she tried to justify. But nothing could quite justify the shadow in Bernie’s eyes or the tremble of her fingertips. Bernie’s actions, although highly embarrassing and deeply painful, had come from a place of _love_. At the counter she stood, spending more time than necessary choosing the right pastry for her. Bernie truly cared for her; a fact that warmed Serena from the inside out.

As for the rest, Serena was reminded of a line from Bernie’s second book. _That’s what love is, she supposed. Defending the indefensible._ And she did. Defend her. Love her.

Bernie returned with her coffee and a chocolate croissant, sliding it in front of her like an offering to a goddess. She looked at her like she was one too. The fluttering in Serena’s stomach grew; strengthened by the warm look in Bernie’s eyes, the curve of her lips as she saw that Serena was pleased by her choice. She took a sip of coffee, unable to stop the smile at the dash of hazelnut Bernie had remembered to request. This was how it usually was between them. Shared looks; little gestures. Butterflies in her stomach.

_Time to wave the white flag, Campbell, and surrender already. It’s been long enough._

Serena waited until Bernie took her seat before she spoke again. “Do you know what the strangest thing about all this is, Bernie? That if you’d just told me; said ‘Serena, I-“

“-love you.” Bernie’s eyes did not fall, did not falter. She looked Serena dead in the eye and said, “I love you.”

 _Hoist the flag._ “Well if you’d said that before all _this_ then I would have said ‘ _wonderful,_ because I love you too’.” 

Bernie tried to hide her surprise but failed miserably. “You do?”

Serena nodded. “I do. But right now I mostly want to throttle you, so don’t look too happy about it.” But she couldn’t help herself. Neither could Serena. _I love you, Bernie Wolfe. Idiot that you are._ “I just wish that you had told me first rather than running to Guy Self.”

“I know, I know.” Bernie bowed her head, disappearing under her fringe.  This time Serena did push her hair away, brushing her temple in the process. “I was so scared, Serena. Scared of losing _this, you._ You’ve always been so careful about mixing work and personal life and I knew I was the exception but I didn’t think I could be, well, _that_ much of an exception.” Bernie brushed her fingers along the inside of Serena’s wrist. “Please tell me I haven’t _completely_ ruined this.”

“Not completely.” Serena could visibly see the tension leave her. “I’m your agent; clearing up your mess is in the job description. We’ll put out a joint statement saying that the article is just vicious gossip trying to tank your book launch and that our partnership is stronger than ever. After coffee we’ll head back to the office, send that out, and then we can brainstorm your new book with Lydia.”

Bernie nodded, swallowing. “And us? What happens with us?”

“I was thinking dinner tonight at The Fairfax. Eight o’clock. And if you could wear that tie and waistcoat you wore to that awards dinner I would be _very_ appreciative.” Recalling how gorgeous Bernie had looked at that awards dinner two years ago brought a pink flush to Serena’s cheeks. _How had she not realised this earlier?_ “The Fairfax is very discreet. I think it’ll give us a little time to ourselves before the press gets wind that I’m dating my best author.” Serena paused; suddenly unsure of herself, of them. “Is-is that alright?”

“It’s perfect.”

She was wrong, earlier. She had not yet seen Bernie Wolfe at her happiest. It was _now_ ; Bernie staring at her like Serena had given her the world. It was _now_ as she held Serena’s hand in public without any shame or regret. It was _now_ as her gaze turned to Serena’s mouth and she saw the shadow lift in Bernie’s eyes; replaced by a hunger that Serena hoped was replicated in her own. Every thought, every feeling she’d had about Bernie over the last five years she’d placed in a box and locked away. Now she opened that box. Let the love come out.

“Your new book,” Serena said; her voice strained as she tried to resist the urge to kiss Bernie in public. “Your main character should have a love interest. Maybe at the hospital where she works. Someone _strong,_ someone _intelligent._ Maybe with a head for business.”

Bernie grinned. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Of course my main character thinks it’s unrequited. It’s not until much later in the story that she realises her feelings are reciprocated.” She was staring at her mouth again. _How many hours until eight o’clock?_ “Maybe she can’t take it any longer. Maybe she just has to kiss her.”

“And she kisses her back so fervently it surprises them both.” Bernie nodded. Serena just smiled. “Well, it sounds like a bestseller to me.”

All that was left was to decide the ending. A happy one would do quite nicely.


End file.
